


The Little Mermaid

by Northern_Lady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Oaths & Vows, Past Rape/Non-con, Recovery, Silent Sisters, mute characters, the hound needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Lady/pseuds/Northern_Lady
Summary: One Shot AU of Sandor Clegane’s experience of finding an injured silent sister on the road as he travels.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Wylla Manderly
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	The Little Mermaid

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story years ago and it has just been sitting on my computer for like five years. I avoided posting it due to the references to violence. I thought maybe it was time to post it. Maybe someone out there will be entertained by how it turns out in the end.

Sandor Clegane had been wandering around in the Riverlands for four days. He’d had his revenge against the men of the Brotherhood Without Banners. Revenge wasn’t enough. He was still angry. Still full of rage like he’d always been and even the wine he’d been able to drink wasn’t enough to dull the anger. He considered going south to find his brother and kill him, or North to join up with the Starks and at least be on the opposite side of his brother but he knew that even that would not be enough. Nothing ever would. Only killing eased the rage and there was no one to kill. 

He rounded another corner along the riverbank and saw something ahead that caught his attention. A body had washed ashore. It looked to be a woman. She was probably dead but he knew he’d better check just to be sure. Sandor dismounted his horse and made his way down the riverbank. As he got closer he recognized the gray hooded dress of the Silent Sisters. He crouched down at her side and found that she was alive. She was breathing and her skin was warm to the touch. Sandor pulled back her hood. She had a bruise on her face. She was young, maybe twenty years old at most and her blond hair was dyed a strange shade of green and braided into a long braid. She didn’t respond when he tried to shake her awake or when he spoke to her so Sandor did the only thing he could. He picked her up to carry her someplace safer. As he pulled her lower body from the water he saw a great deal of blood on her dress. Either this woman was in the midst of a moonblood or had just given birth or she had been raped rather violently. He hoped it was the first one though he didn’t care for any of the possibilities. She wasn’t heavy to carry. She wasn’t particularly tall or strong and she was as easy to carry as a child. He brought her to a grassy area under the trees and laid her down gently. Sandor tried several times to wake her but nothing he did helped. She was still bleeding. He didn’t know what to do about that. The nearest Inn was nearly ten miles away. He didn’t know what other injuries she might have. She was probably better off not being moved. He set to work building a fire. And then he waited. 

It was several hours later when the young woman gasped awake. She cried out, an obvious cry of pain as she tried to sit up and find her bearings. Her eyes met his on the other side of the fire and there was a moment of fear followed by thankfulness. She was probably grateful that he had pulled her from the water rather than let her drown. 

“It’s alright. You’re safe enough here.” Sandor told her. “I found you in the water and fished you out. I don’t suppose you can tell me your name or how you came to be in the river?” He asked, if she kept to her vows then she wouldn’t say anything to him at all. 

She shook her head no and looked down at herself and all the blood on her dress. 

“Did some man do that to you?” He asked her. 

She nodded, frightened at the memory. 

“Fuck!” Sander didn’t know why he should be so concerned. “What sort of monster would rape a silent sister?” 

She tried to get to her feet. Her hands were trembling and there were tears on her face. She was clearly too weak to be walking anywhere. 

“Don’t get up. You’ll only hurt yourself.” Sandor told her. “You’ll need bandages.” 

She looked hesitant but she stopped struggling to get up and went still. He passed her some rags and turned away from her. He waited until he no longer heard the rustling of fabric. He turned back to her and offered her food and a skin of wine. She accepted both. 

“There’s an Inn ‘bout ten miles from here. I’ll take you back there and you can get some clothes, get your wounds tended.” He told her. 

She shook her head no, anxiously. 

“You don’t want to go to the Inn?” 

She repeated the motion. 

“Why? Never mind. You can’t answer that because of your damned vows.” Sandor complained. “I have to take you somewhere. I’m not a maester. I didn’t know if you were gonna live but now that you did live, someone needs to fix you up. If not the Inn then the Tullys?” 

Her answer was still no. 

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to do with you?” 

The young woman began searching the folds of her dress. She found a pocket and pulled out a necklace with a pendant. She passed it to Sandor. 

“A merman?” He asked on seeing the pendant, not understanding what she was getting at. 

She pointed at her green hair. 

“You’re of House Manderly.” he said, understanding dawning on him. Their sigil was a merman with green hair and a trident. “You want to go home?” 

She nodded. 

“Aye, I can take you home.” He said almost reluctantly. Taking her home was better than wandering around the Riverlands with no one to kill. 

He allowed the Manderly girl to rest for a while longer before he began packing up his horse and supplies to begin the journey. 

“Time to go.” Sandor told her. “Can you walk?” 

She shook her head no, so he went and picked her up and placed her on his horse sideways taking care that both her legs hung over the same side. He mounted behind her and they set off. After a few hours, her exhaustion from blood loss took hold and she fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. She was a pretty little thing, even the green blondish hair somehow seemed right on her. When night fell, he stopped the horse and helped her down. He needed to make water himself so he could imagine that she needed do so as well. She probably could barely stand up to do it herself. He carried her to a tree and set her on the ground.

“Can you manage on your own? The seven know I’m no handmaid but I’ll stay and help if you can’t do it.” He told her. 

She indicated that she wanted him to go and he went around the other side of the tree and did his own business. When he was finished he carried her to an open space where he planned to make a fire and sleep for the night. He didn’t like making fires. He wouldn’t have bothered if not for the arrival of Winter. It was getting cold at night lately. Sometimes even cold by day. She watched him intently while he built the fire. 

“Are you staring at my scarred face girl?” He asked her gruffly. 

She shook her head no. 

“Good.” He said. “Seems like most folks can’t stand to look at me and the few who do look just stare for too long.” 

She said nothing to that, as expected. 

“It’s like talking to myself out here. I don’t know how anyone can swear any damned vows. Promises are wind. And vows to never speak again? What use is that? What use is it talking to someone who won’t answer me?” He muttered. 

She started shaking her head no, almost worriedly. 

“What? You want me to keep talking?” He asked, passing her some food over the fire he had just started. 

She nodded. 

“Fine. I’ll tell you how I came to get these fucking scars that everyone is so afraid of.” Sandor said “You won’t be telling anyone else so I might as well.” And as he told her the story of what his brother had done to him, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t look on him with disgust. She didn’t look away from his eyes. It was such a rare thing that he found he was relieved to have told someone who truly listened for the first time. 

“Someday, I’ll kill him, Gregor.” Sandor told her at the end of his story. She nodded as if she hoped he would do just that. 

“It will be cold for sleeping tonight.” Sandor told her a short time later, “I only have the one blanket. I wasn’t expecting no guests. Lady or not, I’m no knight, I’m not giving up my only blanket. Let me sleep next to you and I’ll share it. I won’t touch you.” 

She looked hesitant. There was already a chill in the air. The fire helped to make it manageable but it was clearly going to get colder before the night was through. Anxiously, she nodded and Sandor moved to lie down next to her so that she was between him and the fire. He did not touch her and she kept as much difference as she could from him. The blanket was large enough for two anyhow. 

The following day was spent riding and stopping to rest as often as the Manderly woman needed it. Sandor didn’t mind the slow journey too much. He was in no hurry and she was too badly injured to sit a horse for very long. He didn’t understand how anyone could rape a woman like that, especially a silent sister. It was bad enough to take a woman who wasn’t willing but one sworn to the service of the gods was even worse. He had once very nearly raped a woman but he hadn’t seen it through. He knew now that he never could do something like that. He could kill a man when ordered to or when it suited him. He could pay a woman to take her. But her couldn’t take a woman who wasn’t willing to have him. He didn’t know why some men would want that. 

That evening he set up camp near a sandy patch of riverbank. His guest wrote a name in the sand as he unsaddled his horse. 

“Is that your name? Wylla?” Sandor asked her. 

She nodded. 

He wanted to ask her more questions about how she came to be with the silent sisters and who had hurt her but he was hungry and it was growing dark. They shared a dinner of dried meat and hard bread. Then Sandor covered them both with a blanket and they went to sleep. 

He awoke with a start in the morning to the sound of voiced near his campsite. 

“That’s her alright.” A man was saying in hushed tones. “I’m sure of it. She’s got the green hair and everything.” 

“Don’t matter if it is her or not.” Another man said. “She’s with the Hound. Ain’t nothing we can do about her now.” 

Sandor sat bolt upright on the ground and reached for his sword, startling Wylla awake in the process. “Who the fuck are you?” He said loudly, drawing the attention of three men who stood not twenty feet away under the trees. 

He didn’t have to wait for an answer to his question. Between the words he’d just overheard and the way Wylla was clinging to his arm in terror it seemed obvious who these men were. They were hesitant to answer him. 

“Are they the ones who raped you?” He asked her. She nodded. “All three of them?” He asked and she nodded again. Sandor got to his feet and the men began to back away, drawing their swords as they did.

“What do you want? To rape her again?” Sandor demanded. “Why the fuck would you rape a silent sister?” 

“We didn’t know she was a sister. We found her bathing in the river… it wasn’t til after when we found her clothes on the ground that we knew it. Besides, she isn’t so virtuous. She stole Lewyn’s ring. It was gold and sapphires and when we tossed the woman in the river it was gone.” One of the men said. 

“How would the likes of you any of you have a gold ring? You stole it from someone else, didn’t you?” Sandor said. They were all peasants. There was no way any of them could own gold. 

“We didn’t steal it. Twas my father’s ring. She took it from us.” One of the men protested. 

Sandor looked to Wylla. She was shaking her head no, denying their accusations. 

“She says she didn’t do it and it’s no matter if she did, not after what you did to her.” Sandor moved closer to them. 

They tried to run. It didn’t matter. He cut them down as easily as butter. One of them was gutted, another got a sword through his eye, and the third lost an arm trying to run before Sandor slit his throat. They were dead rather quickly and the whole affair was rather unsatisfying. At least it was until he turned to Wylla and saw the thankfulness in her eyes. He had killed a lot of people for others over the years. Sometimes for King Robert or Joffrey or the Lannisters or even for himself. No one, not even the Little Bird when he killed the men who meant to hurt her, had ever looked at him with the sort of gratefulness that Wylla Manderly did just then. 

Not knowing what else to do, Sandor went back to Wylla and began putting out the fire and packing up to ride again. When he came close enough she caught his arm. Unsure what she wanted he stopped and allowed her to pull him to his knees, then to sit next to her on the ground. Then to his great shock, she hugged him. She threw herself into his arms and she hugged him tightly, trembling and sobbing the entire time, just clinging to him. Sandor put his arms around her and hugged her in return. No one had ever hugged him like this. Not in all his life. It felt good. It felt as if he had finally done something that mattered. He held onto the frightened Silent Sister for a long long while. 

They rode for most of the day that day and the few times they did encounter people, Wylla sought his protection each time by clinging to his arm and all but hiding behind him. None of the people they encountered tried to hurt her. Most just passed them on the road with barely a greeting. Even so, it meant something to him that she wanted his protection. He wasn’t just a dog to her. He was a shield. A shield was better than a dog. He had been a shield in name before but those he guarded had treated him like a dog and he had always accepted that. Wylla looked at him as if he were some damned hero from the songs and he didn’t know what to make of that. 

Near nightfall, they reached a farm. Sandor explained to the farmers that he had found the Sister injured and was taking her home to recover with her family. The elderly man and woman at the farm offered them a meal. The woman was even able to find a hooded dress for Wylla. It was not the gray dress of the silent sisters but a pale blue wool dress with a large hood. The dress was made for a taller woman but since Wylla could barely walk anyway, the length hardly mattered. The old woman helped Wylla to bathe and change. The four of them, the old couple and Sandor and Wylla shared a meal in the tiny cottage. 

“If you’d like to take shelter in the barn then Wylla here is welcome to sleep here by the fire.” The old woman offered. 

Wylla looked hesitant. She grabbed hold of Sandor’s arm and shook her head no. Sandor understood her behavior to mean that she didn’t want him to leave her. He was stunned. “Looks like Wylla doesn’t want to be left alone.” Sandor said. 

“You can’t mean that.” The old woman protested. “She’s a holy woman. She ought not be alone with a…” 

The old woman stopped speaking at the look Sandor was giving her. “With a what? With a dog?” 

“I didn’t mean that? I only meant that it’s not proper.” The old woman said. 

“It isn’t. And isn’t proper what those men did her to her afore I found her. I think it’s up to her to decide where she sleeps.” Sandor said and he got to his feet. He’d never had a woman prefer to be alone with him for safety before. It irked him that these people believed he was some monster who would hurt a woman the first chance he got. He had always embraced his reputation for brutality before now. He didn’t know why he should care about that now. He looked down to see what Wylla would decide. With pleading eyes, Wylla kept her hand on his arm. “She comes with me. If you’ll lend us the use of your barn it would be appreciated. If not, we’ll be on our way.” 

“Take the barn.” The old man said. “And come have breakfast with us in the morning afore you go.” 

Sandor nodded and helped up Wylla and gave her an arm to lean on for support. She could walk with help and she went with him slowly to the barn. He helped her to settle down into a thick bed of hay and then covered them both with the blanket. 

“I wish you could tell me why in seven hells you did that?” Sandor told Wylla in the darkness. Her only reply was to reach over and hold his hand. 

It grew cold as the night wore on. Sandor woke in the night and found that Wylla had taken the entire blanket from him while he slept. It was probably an accident. He found the corner of the blanket in the dark and gently pulled on it. The blanket was wrapped around Wylla in such a way that pulling it only rolled her closer to him. He hesitated, unsure what to do next. A cold breeze made its way near them from under the barn door. 

“Fuck it.” Sandor muttered and he pulled the blanket hard enough to not only get himself covered but to roll Wylla directly into his arms. 

In the moonlight he could see her open her eyes. He expected she might panic and finding herself so close to him. She didn’t. Instead she inched closer to him, wrapped an arm around his back, tucked her head against his chest and went back to sleep. Bewildered, Sandor hugged her in return and went back to sleep himself. 

When Sandor woke in the morning, Wylla was still cuddled close to him. She was awake and cuddled up close to him. He couldn’t quite believe that any woman would do that with him. Her hand was resting on his neck and her eyes were half closed in a relaxed contented sort of way. She was a beautiful woman. He couldn’t help but think about that though not for the first time. 

“What are you doing woman?” He finally asked her, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. 

She pulled away enough to look up at him confused. 

“This.” He said. “You’re supposed to be a holy woman. What the fuck are you doing in bed with a dog?” 

She shook her head no. 

“Of course I’m a dog. You can be nice to me all you want, it doesn’t change it.” 

She shook her her more emphatically no. She moved her hand from his neck to rest on his burned face, her eyes never leaving his. 

Sandor didn’t know what to say. His first instinct was to shout at her and insist that he was a dog, that he wasn’t a damn hero because he killed some coward rapists, that life wasn’t a song, but somehow the hope in her eyes stopped him. Her hope gave him hope. Maybe he didn’t have to be a monster. Maybe he could actually care about someone for once in his life. But who was he kidding? Wylla was sworn to the Faith for life. He was going to take her home for a visit with her family and they would take her back to the Septon when the time was right and he would never see her again. 

“Of course you have to say that.” Sandor said gruffly. “It’s what you people do, try to convince everyone that the gods actually give a shit about us sinners.” 

She poked him hard in the ribs and continued to shake her head no. He ignored her. 

“It’s time to go have breakfast.” He told her and he pulled away from her and got to his feet. He helped her to stand and they made their way back inside the farm cottage. 

They had a quick breakfast, thanked the farmers for their kindness, and set off on their way. Late that afternoon they came to an Inn. Sandor dismounted his horse and helped Wylla down. She looked confused as to why they were stopping so he told her. 

“I want wine.” He said simply. 

She caught his arm, shaking her head no again. 

“What the fuck do you mean, no?” Sandor said, pulling free of her grip. She moved in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. Her eyes were pleading and frightened. “If you think I’ll hurt you because of a little wine, you’re wrong.” 

She shook her head no again. Her gaze fell on a man leaving the Inn carrying a sword. 

“I can still fight when I’m drunk too. No one will touch you if you stay close.” He told her. 

Looking skeptical and hesitant, she took her hand away from him and stepped aside. He made his way to the door, Wylla holding his arm for support all the way. The smell of vomit hit him as the door open. Someone had vomited their drink up on the floor. A man in a corner had a woman on his lap. He stopped short. This wasn’t where he should be. He wanted wine but he wanted Wylla’s respect even more. He didn’t know why he should care except that she was the only person who ever seemed to care the least bit about him. 

“Fuck this, we’re leaving.” Sandor said, making his way back to the horse quickly. Wylla struggled to keep up with him so he scooped her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way. He couldn’t help but notice her smile as he mounted the horse behind her. 

“There’s no need for that. You didn’t win. I’ll just get wine in the next place.” He told her and she smiled even wider. “You think I won’t? You think you’ve made a saint out of me with your hugs and your smiles?” 

She shrugged, still smiling. 

By nightfall, Sandor almost wished he’d gotten the wine after all. Especially when Wylla didn’t even hesitate to hug him when they laid down under the blanket to sleep. He liked having her close and that was the whole problem. She was a pretty woman and she’d been touching him a lot the past few days. He wouldn’t force himself on her but sleeping like this another night was going to be beyond frustrating. 

“I can’t sleep like this, Wylla.” Sandor said gruffly after half a minute. 

She pulled away and looked up at him confused and hurt. Why did she have to look at him like that with such sad eyes? Surely she could feel his hardness pressed against her? After what was done to her by those other men it seemed like she would fear being so close to a man. 

“You want to know why I can’t sleep like this?” He said harshly. “Because I want you. A dog always wants what he can’t have.” If anything were going to scare her away from him once and for all, that would do it. 

Understanding dawned on her but instead of pulling away in horror like he expected she would, Wylla did something he would have never expected. She leaned a little closer to him and she kissed him. He was so stunned at first that there was nothing else he could do but kiss her in return. His arms came around her and he pulled her body closer to his own. By the time he realized what he was doing, kissing a woman sworn to the gods, he had his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her backside. He pulled away from her swiftly. 

“Seven hells woman! What did you do that for? If you mean to discard your vows you could have talked to me first!” He said. 

She shook her head no, worriedly. 

“So you don’t intend to break your vows?” he asked, a little angry with her. 

No, she didn’t. 

“You can’t just get a man all worked up like that!”

Her hand that had been resting on his belly moved slowly down to the ties on his breeches. That was when he understood that she meant to pleasure him with her hands. He ought not to take her any other way anyhow. She was still injured and she had her vows. But this...Her fingers were wrapped around his manhood before he even had the presence of mind to tell her it was a bad idea. In truth, it wasn’t a bad idea. He’d never felt anything quite so good as the way her hands felt on his body. Not because she was particularly skilled but because she was the only woman who had ever done such a thing for him freely. It wasn’t the same when a woman had to be paid to let him fuck her. Wylla resumed kissing him as both her hands stroked him again and again. He didn’t have much experience kissing a woman but he could tell by her breathing, by the way she pressed close to him that she liked being kissed. His hands roamed her body and she actually moaned when he reached down her dress to fondle her breast. Another minute passed and he lost the ability to think about anything except for the feel of her hands around his manhood. He bucked against her and she moved faster and faster until he was groaning and his seed was spilling all over her hands. 

“Seven hells…” He muttered as he caught his breath, “What the fuck just happened?” 

Wylla smiled and kissed him one last time before cuddling up close to him again and going to sleep. Sandor found that he wanted to laugh. He could sleep now. She had gotten what she wanted, someone to hug while she slept and had made him relaxed enough to allow it. And she’d done it all without outright breaking her vows. Of course the Silent Sisters wouldn’t approve of her behavior but vows be damned, that had been worth it. 

Sandor woke to Wylla’s soft breathing against his neck the next morning as she slept and he realized that for the first time in years, he didn’t feel angry. He had been angry for as long as he could remember. Angry about what Gregor had done to him, angry at their father for doing nothing about it, angry at the loss of his sister who had been the one person to ever care about him, angry that the world was so full of injustice and not even the best warriors could ever change that. But here, with this strange little woman in his arms, he felt at peace for once. He hugged her tighter against him, pulling her almost on top of him. She gasped in surprise but made no attempt to pull away from him. She relaxed against him and the two of them just stayed embraced like that for a long while. When he finally did move to get up and have breakfast she seemed reluctant to let him go. In the end she did let him go. They ate and set out again on their journey. 

It would take several weeks to reach White Harbor from where they were. That meant Sandor would be spending many more days and nights with this woman who suddenly meant more to him than anyone ever had. Once he reached White Harbor he would be alone again. It made him angry to think about that and the anger was directly in conflict with the way her presence brought him peace. After only a few hours he was tired of thinking about it. He stopped the horse at midday to have a meal. When he helped Wylla down from the horse she hugged him the moment her feet touched the ground. Being hugged like that was still a novelty to him and he still didn’t fully understand why she did it. He held on to her while he had the chance anyway, in spite of not understanding. 

Two weeks passed between them in this manner. Traveling by day, sharing a blanket by night. Wylla sought his protection every time they met other travellers and he always gave it. She offered him smiles and hugs and some nights when he was in obvious need she stroked him until he no longer was consumed with need. He talked to her a little by day and was able to find out a little about her by asking her yes or no questions. He knew by now that she’d had a decent childhood. Her father never beat her and her mother was kind. She had run away to the Silent Sisters to avoid a marriage. She knew how cook and sew and and could ride a horse well once she was healed. She could swim very well and she wasn’t afraid of any animals they met in the wild. It was people she didn’t like, or most men anyway. She loved the little yellow flowers that grew on the roadside. 

They were getting nearer to White Harbor, about a week’s ride away, when they came to another Inn. It had been too long without a drink and Sandor got down from his horse having every intention to go inside and have wine or ale or whatever was available to drink in this part of the kingdom. He helped Wylla down from the horse and she followed him inside. She sat down next to him on a bench at the long table as a maid poured a drink for him and offered them food. Halfway into his bowl of stew a man took a seat on the other side of Wylla. She slid a little closer to Sandor and continued to eat without looking up. 

“I know you,” the man said. “You’re the Manderly wench. The one that run off to avoid marrying my cousin.” 

“Fuck off,” Sandor told him, not caring to listen. 

“You’re the Hound. What is she doing with you?” 

“I said, fuck off.” 

“No. I don’t think I will. I think you should hand her over and I’ll take her to my cousin where she belongs.” 

“You won’t be taking her anywhere,” Sandor told this Frey imbecile, whichever Frey he was. “I’m taking her home to White Harbor.” 

“They don’t want her there anyhow. Not after what she did.” 

Wylla’s eyes filled with tears and she looked down at her food. 

“What did she do?” Sandor asked, doubting that Wylla could have done anything that terrible. 

“She was supposed to marry my cousin and she refused. Her father arranged a new match with Gawen Glover. Then she took up with some with some stableboy and got pregnant with his bastard child. The Glovers ended the betrothal at that insult. After that the stableboy turned up dead, stabbed, and the baby was born dead and rdeformed. Some say it was poison and murder because she realized she couldn’t ever marry into a Great House anymore. Anyhow, my cousin renewed his offer and she ran off to the Silent Sisters rather than accept it.” The Frey man explained. “No one wants her in White Harbor. She killed her lover and baby.” 

Wylla was shaking her head no as tears dripped onto her food. Sandor didn’t believe the story he had just been told. Wylla hadn’t killed anyone. They had died some other way. He was glad that the Frey man got up and left her in peace. 

“I don’t think you killed anyone, did you?” He asked her. 

She affirmed that she had not. 

“You’re hoping your family will take you back?” He asked her. 

She nodded. 

“And if they don’t you’ll return to the sisters, vows intact?” 

Wylla nodded again, barely able to look at him. 

“The rest of what he said, is that true too? Your family might not welcome you home?” Sandor asked. 

She shrugged and nodded at the same time, a reaction that he knew from her indicated probably. 

He sighed, “I’ll take you the rest of the way there all the same.” 

She nodded her thankfulness. That night they shared a room and shared a bed and she brought him the sort of comfort that she had offered on manu other occasions thus far. More than ever before he wished that he could just take it the rest of the way and be inside her. The way she pressed against him made him think that maybe she wished for the same. 

When they reached her home, the Manderlys weren’t exactly welcoming. They had a servant escort them in and offer her food and a room for the night along with the message that she would need to return to the Sisters on the morrow. 

Sandor stiffened at that message and was ready to argue with this servant that Lord Manderly ought to come cast out his daughter to her face and hide behind a servant to do it. He didn’t have to. Lady Manderly entered the room just then. 

“Wylla?” 

Wylla looked at her mother with both hope and worry. 

“I’m sorry Wylla, you cannot stay. There have been accusations from all sides since you left. From the Freys and the Glovers and from the small folks. You will need to go. I just wanted to see for myself that you were well.” 

“She’s not well,” Sandor spoke up. “She was raped by traveling thieves some weeks back and badly injured. She’s not well, and now her own family casts her out over some fucking rumor that you know isn’t true?” Sandor asked. 

“You’re the Hound? What are you doing with my Wylla?” 

“She’s yours all of a sudden now that she’s with the Hound?” 

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Lady Manderly protested. “We need more time Wylla. If we can learn who stabbed Hiram then we can clear you of it. If not, you’d best go back to the sisters. There’s no other choice.” 

“I’ll take her back to Clegane Keep,” he spoke up, not entirely sure what made him do that. 

“What?” Lady Manderly asked, surprised. 

“That’s the other choice. She doesn’t have to be a silent sister.” 

“And what would she be at Clegane Keep?” Lady Manderly asked warily. 

Wylla glanced up at him both surprised and hopeful. Now that he had brought it up he couldn’t let her down. 

“Could use a kitchen maid,” he said, offering the best option he had, even if it wasn’t much compared to House Glover. In truth he could offer more but wasn’t sure Wylla would want to be tied to him if there was a chance at marrying into a greater house. 

“Would you want that, Wylla?” The lady asked but Wylla had turned and thrown her arms around Sandor to hug him. 

Lady Manderly watched them for a moment in awe, then sighed. “Fine, we will make a donation to the Silent Sisters and free you of your obligation to them.” 

That was the way it worked in religious orders. A large enough donation could buy you the gods favor for anything. 

She nodded emphatically that she did want to be freed. 

“You will stay the night and then be on your way.” 

The Manderlys put Sandor and Wylla in separate rooms that night as could be expected. Sandor found that he missed her a great deal more than he would like to admit. The next day when they set off for the Westerlands, Wylla was not her usual cheery self. She was brooding and sad and she was still not speaking, not until she was officially freed of her vows. 

“You hungry?” He asked her as he helped her down from her horse late in the day. 

She shook her head that she wasn’t. 

“Your family say something to you that upset you?” He asked, unsure what could have her so sad. 

Again, she shook her head no. 

Her mood didn’t improve as the day wore on and when evening came and it was time to sleep for the night she took her own blanket, given to her among the supplies her family had provided, lay down on the opposite side of the fire. 

“You’re sleeping over there?” He asked, a little confused at the sudden change. 

She nodded and turned away from him. After a while he could hear her sniffles as she tried to hide her tears. 

The next day was no better. There were no smiles, no attempts to cheer him with her hugs, no disagreements when he pulled out a skin of wine. She merely glared at him when he did so and Sandor decided he would drink it this time anyway. 

The second night he was well and truly drunk when Wylla settled down alone by the fire again. He took his own blanket and joined her there, actually pulling her into a hug like they had often shared before. She made an attempt at shoving him away but wasn’t strong enough to budge him. So she began to hit him, pummeling at his chest with her small fists. It truly didn’t hurt him, and he doubted she was trying to hurt him, only to make him move. He wasn’t going anywhere just yet. Not until he could make sense of what was going on with her. 

“What in seven hells girl?” He said, hugging her tightly enough that she couldn’t move. “Stop hitting me.” 

She shoved against him one last time and fell still. 

“You want me to let go, you’re gonna have to tell me what has gotten into you,” he told her. 

She shook her head, as if to indicate that with her vows she couldn’t do so. 

“Fuck your vows. You’ll be free of them soon enough and with what we’ve done, I think they’re close enough to broken already. I’m not letting go until you tell me what the fuck you’ve been so upset about.” 

She shoved against him again, kicking with her feet as well this time, clearly giving it all her effort to break free of him but she was no match for his strength. Then Wylla went still, bursting into tears. Sandor found that he felt a little sorry about that and he let her go with a sigh but he didn’t leave her side. 

Wylla cried for a while and when her tears had ended she turned and faced him. “Fine,” she said, speaking for the first time since he had known her. “I will tell you.” Her voice was high and thin. 

He waited, stunned, for her to give her explanation. It seemed to be taking her a moment to find the words. 

“Am I truly of no more value to you than as a kitchen maid?” 

He let out a breath. So that’s what it was? “Of course you are. I was trying to give you your freedom. You could still marry into a great house later if you wanted.” 

She shook her head and then remembered that she could speak. “No. I wouldn’t want to. I would much rather…” she blushed rather than finish her thought. 

“You’d rather be Lady Clegane?” He asked, angry because he didn’t quite believe it could be true. 

“Would that be so bad?” 

“Not at all. I just didn’t think you’d want it.” 

She stared at him. “Which part of my behavior these past weeks made you think I didn’t want to be with you?” 

“It wasn’t that, I never quite understood why you tolerated me at all. Plenty of people are afraid of me, especially women. Why weren’t you?” 

“Because you protected me!” She said, exasperated. “You treated me gently and saw to my injuries and you protected me. It was more than my family could do. More than Hiram…” she sniffled. 

“Hiram was the stableboy? The one who was stabbed?” 

She nodded. “That Frey in the Tavern didn’t have all the story right. My baby did die, stillborn. But Hiram didn’t die until later. Some drunk Freys at White Harbor thought they’d take me to Little Walder themselves. If I didn’t have a baby anymore and my betrothal to House Glover was broken, I was free to accept his betrothal. Hiram tried to fight them. Five men were too many for him. He was no knight. My family said I couldn’t openly accuse the Freys like that and the Freys said they would forgive my accusations if I accepted the marriage so I ran away…. he couldn’t protect me but you can.” 

“Fucking Freys…” Sandor muttered. “You didn’t need a dog to protect you though. You’re pretty enough you could have found some other knight to do it.” 

She turned on her side to face him, anger and hurt in her eyes as she reached over and rested her hand on his arm. “How was I not clear enough?” 

“About what?” 

Wylla pulled herself closer to him and she reached up and kissed him slowly and longingly. “About what I wanted,” she whispered as she pulled away. “I don’t want some other knight. Was that not obvious?” 

“Aye. It was,” he agreed sadly. “Seemed like one of those things too good to be true, is all.” 

“But it is true. So what are you going to do about it?” 

“I’ll write to your family about a betrothal if you like?” 

She allowed herself a small smile and she nodded. “I would like that.” 

“Does that mean I can sleep here?” Sandor asked her. 

“Did you miss me?” She asked with a smile. 

“Gods yes…” Yes he had missed her and as he pulled her closer and resumed their kisses. It still seemed unbelievable that he wouldn’t have to miss her again after this.


End file.
